


our shattered souls

by Azaisya



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode 64, Gen, Warnings in AN, au where Percy and Cassandra actually talk to each other about their sundry traumas and doubts, sibling relationships, the de Rolo siblings' problems could be a whole separate character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaisya/pseuds/Azaisya
Summary: In the wake of Vorugal's near miss of Whitestone, Cassandra is shaken. Percy finds her in his old room, and the two finally speak about trust, death, and their broken, terrible selves.





	our shattered souls

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently on Episode 84 but can I just say??? I wrote this before I knew Percy died and it's definitely thrown this fic into a different light. 
> 
> Takes place after the Feywild and Vorugal's flyby over Whitestone, but before Vox Machina heads to Draconia. More specifically, this takes place directly after Percy’s conversation with Vax about trust. 
> 
> TW: literally everything to do with Cassandra's relationship w the Briarwoods (including violence, gaslighting, and stockholm syndrome), mentions of character deaths (but they don't last), and panic attacks.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Critical Role or any of its affiliated characters or locations.

After the near miss of the dragon attack, Cassandra spent the night wandering around the city, partially to calm her racing thoughts and partially to reassure those she came across. The air was starting to get warmer as the seasons spun slowly towards spring, but the nights were still chilly enough that she needed her heaviest winter cloaks. Overhead, the barrier shimmered faintly.

Cassandra sent a silent thank you to Gilmore, who was probably sleeping or getting drunk right now. Pelor knew that's what she would be doing.

The night was quiet. Her people were in their homes, spending time with their loved ones, coming to terms with their own mortality, and keeping quiet.

By the time midnight rolled around, Cassandra's eyes were aching with exhaustion and her fingers were starting to go numb from the cold. She hadn't seen anybody for a few hours, and so she reluctantly decided to head back up to the castle.

She wasn't looking forward to spending the night alone, in whatever dark, unused room she decided to sleep in tonight.

She never slept in her own room anymore.

Tonight, she made her way to Percy's old room. It'd been cleaned since the Briarwoods' death, although there was a new layer of dust on his old things. His desk had been ravaged by Dr. Ripley, and many of his old sketches were sitting in haphazard piles on the floor against the wall. Cassandra didn't bother inspecting the rest of the room. She'd spent enough time in here during the Briarwoods' rule to have every inch—from the black soot mark on the ceiling from a failed experiment to the tiny forgotten screws under the bed—devoted to her memory. She didn't even have to look to scoop the matches up from the desk and light the candle on one of the shelves. Without any grace, she dumped her winter cloak onto Percy's desk and unbuttoned her overdresses until she was wearing nothing but a plain white chemise.

She was just starting to shake out the blankets when she heard a voice.

"Who— oh, god, I'm so sorry—"

Cassandra whirled around, instinctively grabbing for the dagger she kept under her skirts and flinging it at the door. Without looking to see if it'd found its mark, she dove for the rapier she'd dropped by her dresses. Drawing it, she leaped several steps back and pointed it at the door, which was now closed. Her dagger, a solid inch or two into the wood, trembled still from the force of her throw. After standing there for several long seconds, her heartbeat a rapid pulse in her ears, she cautiously lowered her rapier. "Hello?"

There was a moment of silence. "Are you— are you decent?"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. She knew that voice. "Percy?"

"I— yes. Yes, it's me."

Immediately, all of the tension drained from her body. Around Percy, she could be herself. She couldn't do that with anyone else. Her people expected a ruler, a lady, a queen—and so that was what she needed to be. By herself, she was a wraith, consumed by guilt and shame and self-loathing. But Percy—

Percy didn't make it easy to forget all the death. He was an ever-present reminder of her own sins and flaws, but—

He was made of the same stuff as her. They could be broken and terrible together.

She stepped forwards to open the door, but an errant thought stopped her in her tracks. Just a week ago, Vax had been attacked by a creature wearing Gilmore's face, and there were no guards close enough to hear her shout. She took another step back and raised the rapier again. "Open the door slowly and come in."

The doorknob turned and Percy poked his head into the room. He blinked upon seeing her holding a sword and wearing nothing but her underclothes. "Um."

"Where were you on my tenth birthday?"

Percy stared at her. " _What?_ "

She waved the rapier at him. "Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III."

His eyebrows went up. "Yes, Cassandra Johanna von Musel Klossowski de Rolo?"

"Where were you on my tenth birthday?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it, perhaps seeing the intensity in her eyes. "I was in the attic, because I'd accidentally locked myself up there trying to find a last minute gift for you."

Cassandra lowered her rapier and stepped back. "Oh. Okay. Come in then."

He did, shutting the door behind him. His eyes widened when he saw the dagger stuck fast in the wood. "Oh. That's . . . impressive."

She shrugged and sat cross legged on the bed, rapier lying against the pillows. "I have fast reflexes."

"So you do," Percy agreed. His eyes roamed around the room, and she saw the downward turn to his lips.

She propped her chin in one hand, eyes narrowed as she stared at him. "What's going on?"

He half-turned towards her, although he didn't look away from his desk. "Nothing. Is that my old tinkering set?"

"Yes, but it's mine now."

His face snapped to hers, startled. When he saw her crooked smile, his expression edged towards the irritated fondness that she was so used to seeing. "I forgot you're a brat."

She shrugged, and strands of her black-and-white hair fell over her shoulders. "Don't change the subject, Percy." Even as a child, she'd been able to tell when he was avoiding something. "Why are you here? You haven't come here since. . . ." She trailed off, because there was no way to finish that sentence. He simply hadn't come here.

Percy looked uncomfortable. "I suppose I just wanted to . . . revisit old haunts."

Her eyebrows shot upwards. "I see." That wasn't an answer at all, but she didn't press him. If he wanted to talk, he would talk.

He pulled his chair out from his desk and pushed her cloak aside so that he could sit. "Why are you here, Cassandra?"

She fidgeted with her sleeve. "To sleep."

His eyes snapped to hers. "You sleep in my room?"

"I sleep everywhere in the castle," she said immediately, "You're not special."

His brow furrowed. "That sounds rather inconvenient."

"Percy, brother, I am not sleeping in the room that they used to lock me in every night," she said flatly.

His expression twisted in pain, as if she'd stabbed him in the gut. Somewhere deep in her heart, she was grimly triumphant that he so deeply regretted leaving her behind. The rest of her hated herself for even thinking that.

"Sorry," she said, quietly.

"No." He rubbed his eyes. "I am sorry. For leaving you."

Cassandra looked down at her lap. For years, Lady Briarwood had taunted her with Percy's betrayal. She'd gotten so turned around, convinced that Percy had abandoned her to her fate on purpose. She'd grown to hate him with a wild sort of desperation. With Lord and Lady Briarwood there, providing comfort and love, and Percy gone, it'd been easy enough to love Lord and Lady Briarwood instead.

It'd been easy enough to hate Percy instead.

She couldn't bring herself to apologize, and so she just said, "I know."

She didn't hate him. Not anymore. But it was difficult for her to reconcile the Percy of her youth with the Percy that'd abandoned her with the Percy the Briarwoods had created with the Percy before her now.

She tried for a smile, and found it was easy enough to smile at the Percy before her now. "Besides, everybody else has much more comfortable beds."

Percy's lips pursed, but then he seemed to accept her unsubtle attempt to change the topic. His shoulders dropped and he exhaled. "It's because your pillows are too thin."

"Ah. That must be it."

Percy turned away and opened a drawer at random, clearly looking for a distraction. His mouth fell open. "Cassandra, my stuff is gone."

She rolled her eyes and got to her feet, leaning down to pick up his old sketches as she went. "Not all of it." She dumped them into his lap. "Dr. Ripley took or destroyed almost everything, but there are some random bits lying around."

He thumbed through the pages, the hardness in his eyes fading. Most of the sketches were rudimentary, but even at his young age Percy had shown remarkable talent for drawing. Cassandra herself was in quite a few of them, a waddling child with ribbons in her hair. There were sketches of the trees surrounding the city, and the massive white dog the de Rolos used to own. It was a tiny glimpse into childhood, and Percy was stricken silent by them.

Cassandra leaned against the back of his chair. "I still have the toys you used to make for me."

He tilted his head towards her. "The clockwork animals? Do they still work?"

"Not really. I've been trying to fix them, although I haven't been very successful."

He laughed, and she couldn't help smiling broadly. The tiny part of her that reveled in his pain could sit there in the dark forever, because the rest of her heart swelled at his happiness. _His_ happiness, and she'd been the one to make him laugh! It made her feel light and airy. "Didn't you make some of them?" he asked, lips twitching.

"Well, yes, and that's helped, but I haven't tinkered in ages and I lost my glasses some time ago."

He raised his eyebrows. "I did wonder why you weren't wearing them."

"I'm not half as blind as you are," she said drily, "Besides, there hasn't been time to find new ones."

Percy looked down at his sketches, his smile fading once again. She stepped back, unsure what dark places his mind was wandering to. He put the sketches down on the desk, beside her cloak, and swiveled around to face her. Instinctively, she shied away, suddenly uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze. Without taking his eyes off her, he asked, "Do you trust me, Cassandra?"

Cassandra stared at him, at this brother whom she'd thought lost, at this broken creature who saved lives, at this mirror of her own self-hatred and guilt. A nervous laugh escaped her throat, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep any more from escaping. "Do I trust you?" she asked, shakily, "What sort of question is that?"

"Do you trust me?"

Cassandra stepped backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed and she sat down. Did she trust him? She supposed she did. She trusted him with her life. She trusted him with the lives of their people.

She didn't trust him not to leave, but she trusted him to come back.

She didn't trust him with her heart, but she didn't trust anybody with that.

She loved him, but she didn't trust him not to hurt her.

Was that enough? Did she trust him?

Cassandra closed her eyes. "Yes." Her voice was faint, barely a whisper, and yet it seemed cacophonous in the silent room. When Percy didn't answer, she opened her eyes. His expression was painfully open, candid in a way it rarely was. She couldn't describe what she saw there, but it broke her heart.

"I don’t—" Percy hesitated. "I don't know if that's wise."

Cassandra wrapped her arms around her abdomen. "I don't think it is. But I trust you. In the ways that matter, I suppose."

He rubbed his eyes, a nervous habit of his that she’d never noticed before. " _I_ don't trust me. I am a terrible human being, and I make terrible decisions."

"I—" Cassandra stopped, remembering the night they'd met again, the smoke rising from his skin and his roar of rage and the furious, reckless light in his eyes. "Well, yes. You do. I trust you anyways." She shifted, uncomfortable. "I don't know if I should. But I'm hardly one to talk. I'm the traitor of Whitestone, remember?"

"And also her savior," Percy said, automatically.

Cassandra made a face at him. "Thanks, but I still made terrible decisions." She scooted further back on the bed so that she could hug her knees to her chest and rest her chin on her knees. "I sold my soul to the Briarwoods," she whispered, not noticing the way Percy flinched violently at her words, "I loved them, and they loved me in return. I gave up my free will and my love for you and our people in order to gain their approval and their promise of safety." She fidgeted with a loose thread in her skirt. "I'm not trying to– to one-up your suffering or your terrible decisions or anything. I'm just saying— Well. I'm not exactly a paragon of morality and virtue. My word shouldn't be taken as gospel." She raised her head to look him in the eyes. "I trust you because I love you. I trust you to make the right decisions because I know you love me, and I know you love our people, and I know you love your friends."

Percy was quiet for a very long time. "I don't know if I can always make the right decision."

Cassandra considered that. "Do you want to?"

He smiled crookedly. "What would be the fun in that?" When she didn't reply, his smile faded. "I think— I would like to try."

She smiled at that, because wasn't that what she was doing with her own life? "I don't think you're a terrible human being. I think you've been placed in terrible situations, and I think you make terrible decisions, but I don't think that means you're not to be trusted."

"I would like not to be trusted," Percy said immediately, and she was startled by the vehemence in his voice, "I would like for you—or any of my friends—to stop me if I ever go too far."

"Okay." Cassandra shifted slightly. "Okay."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Okay?"

"Yes. Okay." Her lips twitched into a wry smile. "I can do that."

He seemed to sag backwards, leaning against the edge of his desk. He rubbed his eyes, and she was suddenly aware of the burning in her own.

It was very late.

"Were you coming here to sleep tonight?"

He shrugged somewhat listlessly. "I don't really know why I came here tonight." He fidgeted with the edge of her cloak, which still sat on a pile on his desk. "Perhaps I wanted to speak to you. If you're sleeping here, of course, I can leave."

Cassandra bit her lower lip. She hated being alone, dreaded it with every fiber of her being. She could stand it, of course, but—

She despised it.

It was why she spent so many late nights in Gilmore's room, before he'd recovered, or in the library with Zahra or sitting up on the balcony with the guards.

Quietly, she said, "You can stay, you know."

Percy's expression turned sharp and scrutinizing. "Are you sure?"

She understood his hesitation. This wasn't something they _did_. The de Rolo family had always loved each other, of course, but they had never been a particularly physically affectionate family. She hadn't slept in the same bed as Percy for almost fifteen years, not since she'd been too young to deal with her own nightmares.

But Cassandra figured they both deserved a little comfort, after everything that'd happened. "Of course." She scooted back on the bed and tucked her legs under the blankets. "Percy, your bed is huge." She looked into his eyes and saw the brittle vulnerability he tried so hard to hide. Her expression softened slightly. "You don't have to say yes."

"No, I'd like that." He looked around the room, a touch disparaging. "Are my clothes still here?"

"Check the closet," she said sleepily, burrowing further into the covers. She had one dagger left in her skirt, and she stuffed it under the pillow instead. With her face in the dusty pillow, she could hear Percy moving about the room, searching for pajamas. She knew for a fact that most of them were gone. The Briarwoods hadn't had any interest in old clothes, of course, but Cassandra had frequently used them to make haphazard bandages or rope.

"Ah, here they—" Percy stopped talking abruptly, and Cassandra raised her head to see him half-standing in his closet, staring at the floor. "There's blood in my closet."

Cassandra blinked. "There is?" She thought back, brow furrowing. "I don't know why there would b— Oh. Never mind."

Percy turned, one eyebrow arching upwards.

She grimaced. "No, that's mine. Just ignore it." She laid back down, mood dropping. Normally, the thought of Lord and Lady Briarwoods' wrath had been enough to keep people from getting too violent with her, but that protection had always had stipulations. When she broke those stipulations—when she spoke out of turn or kept secrets or even did her own hair—anything was fair game, so long as nobody touched her face.

And there had been many people who took great delight in punishing the girl who was normally kept above it all.

"Yours?" Percy asked, voice flat.

"Mine," Cassandra said, voice muffled by the pillows, "Somebody stabbed me, I think. I don't remember."

She could hear Percy moving, shuffling through the closet to look for pajamas that still fit. It made it easier for her to keep talking, and her exhaustion had worn away her usual filters. "I couldn't let myself die. That was the worst-case scenario. If I was crippled, if I was almost dead, that would be fine. I would still have myself, even if I gave it willingly away." Her voice dropped even further. "But if I died, they would bring me back. And then they would have me, wholly and absolutely, and I wouldn't have been able to choose them anyways because I wouldn't have been able to even choose."

She let out a shuddering breath. She'd been so afraid to die. She wasn't afraid anymore.

"It's funny," she said, rolling over so that she was facing the ceiling, "We're both pretty messed up, aren't we?"

Percy chuckled, not without humor, and said, "Yes. We are."

A thought struck her, and she rolled over to face him. He was completely changed now, his clothes folded neatly on top of her cloak. He wore the pajamas that he'd received on his nineteenth birthday, pale silver with itchy embroidery on the sleeves.

She'd gotten a matching set, although hers was probably sitting long-forgotten at the bottom of her drawers

"Percy, we don't really talk much."

"We're talking right now."

"We are, and that's strange for us."

He turned and, catching the sharp look in her eyes, stilled. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

She made a face, and he made one back. She laughed, but then quickly sobered. "Yes, actually. If you don't mind."

He yawned, but quickly covered it with a hand. "Of course."

"Right." Cassandra swallowed. She suddenly felt very awake. She didn't know how to talk about this. "I was– I was talking to Kima, the other day." She rolled the edge of the blanket between her fingers, watching as a loose thread spiraled in the air. "Did you know she's died before?"

Percy, almost imperceptibly, froze. "No, I didn't."

She didn’t look up, resolutely staring down at the bedsheets. “I just– I don’t know. Adventuring seems like a dangerous endeavor.”

“Oh, it absolutely is.”

“And you don’t always travel with a cleric.”

She heard him moving closer and looked up just in time to see him sit at the edge of the bed. “Are you worried?”

She stared at him, jaw falling open. “Am I _worried?”_ When he didn’t say anything, she sat up so she could hit him. “Of course I’m worried!”

Percy blinked sheepishly. His eyes were lighter than hers. Funny, she didn’t remember that. “I’m sorry.”

Cassandra sat up so that they were face-to-face. “I will always worry.” She looked down. “I– I really hate the idea of you dying, obviously. But—”

“I don’t want to die,” Percy said slowly, and she nodded because she understood that now.

“I’m glad.”

“Yes.” Percy swallowed. In the candlelight, his expression was inscrutable. “We normally do bring Pike with us. She’s– She’s powerful.”

Cassandra shifted back, leaning against the wall and trying to ignore the sick feeling pushing at the back of her throat.

“And—not that I want to get used to it and nor do I want to grow to expect it—she has the ability to bring us back, should we fall.”

The sick feeling pressed violently against her throat and she had to cover her hand with her mouth to keep from retching.

Percy stopped talking, and she felt the bed shift as he moved closer to her. “Cassandra? Cass?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her mind was blank, and her body sagged downwards.

“ _Cassandra_ ,” Percy said, voice firm, “Breathe. Can you breathe with me?”

As if she was one of those clockwork dolls Percy used to make, her head moved up and down.

Percy took her hands, his touch gentle despite their callouses, and tilted his head so that he could look her in the eyes. “Breathe with me.”

She hadn’t even noticed that her breathing had turned erratic, but she obligingly inhaled—slowly—and exhaled when he did.

She could hear him counting, like their mother used to when they were young, but she didn’t listen. She just watched his chest as it moved up and down.

After what felt like an eternity, Percy squeezed her hands. “Are you okay?”

She nodded mutely.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

After a long moment, she nodded again.

Percy opened and closed his mouth, clearly at a loss for words. She shuddered and fell forwards, her forehead resting in the hollow between his neck and shoulder. Automatically, his arms came up to enclose her, holding her to him.

She was crying, tears tracing the line of her nose and falling to wet his pajama shirt. Still, her voice was level as she began to speak. “In the beginning, I helped out with Pike—and later Kima, I suppose—in the infirmary. I was– I was fine. I didn’t mind the blood or the death.” She swallowed hard. “There was a girl. Alessie. She’d lost her arm during the attack in Emon, and she wasn’t doing well. She died. I was there. I remember crying, and Pike—” Another shudder ran through her, and his fingers tightened over her thin chemise. “—Pike just looked me in the eyes and said—” Her words caught in her throat. “She said, ‘We are not too late.’ _And she brought her back_.”

She could feel Percy’s throat bob as he opened his mouth to say something. She shoved away, hands beating without strength at his chest as she talked over him. “I freaked out, Percy! I panicked and I think I vomited and I can’t remember anything else about that night.” His eyes, wide and owl-like on his pale face, loomed above her. She looked away, cheeks burning. She hated—

She hated being weak.

She was just _so weak_ , a broken, sniveling girl who could hardly sleep without seeing the faces of her parents and the creatures that’d tried to become her parents, and she was _sick_ and she was _afraid_ and she was—

Cassandra drew in a deep, shuddering breath, clenching her hands in her lap and forcefully dragging her thoughts away before she spiraled.

With a groan, she fell back onto the bed and threw her arms over her face. Ignoring the tremble that wavered, still, in her words, she said, “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Percy sat very still, staring down at her as though carved from stone. Slowly, he said, “I didn’t know you felt that way about— I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Tiredly, she said, “This is why de Rolo children never talk about their feelings.”

Percy laughed mirthlessly. "No, it's fine. I'm sorry that– I'm sorry I never thought to ask before."

She peeked up at him over the crook of her elbow. "You absolutely thought to ask," she said, tone half-accusing, "You just never did."

"I didn't know if I was allowed to," he agreed, looking down at his lap.

Cassandra exhaled, imagining all of the tension in her body flying out with her breath and dissipating into the cool night air. "That wasn't even what I wanted to talk about," she said, weakly.

Slowly, as if afraid he was overstepping some line in the sand she hadn't bothered to point out, Percy pushed his legs under the blankets and leaned against the headboard. His arm twitched towards her before he took a deep breath, steeling himself, and placed his fingers on her scalp. Just as slowly, he smoothed her hair out of her face, combing his fingers through dark locks streaked with white.

Instinctively, Cassandra's eyelids fluttered closed. She didn't normally like it when other people touched her hair.

Not anymore, at least.

Lady Briarwood had loved her hair, constantly braiding it or pinning it up or combing it. But Percy's hands were different. His fingers were warmer. More tentative. His nails were shorter. There was affection— _true_ affection—in his every movement.

She found, to her surprise, that she could relax against his touch. Without opening her eyes, she whispered, "I never want to be brought back if I die."

Percy made a quiet, pained noise in the back of his throat. "You won't die."

"I know." She opened her eyes. It was very dark, now. The candlelight flickered and sputtered, at the end of its wick, and she could only see Percy's silhouette. Although he looked noble and powerful, like their father or like Julius, there was still something ragged and brittle about him. It wasn't difficult to remember that he was an adventurer, a fighter, a hero. "I know you might die, Percy." He stilled, but she needed to say this. This needed to be said, never mind the quaver in her voice or the tight knot in her chest. "But I don't– I don't mind if you come back." Even saying the words made her feel sick, but she pushed on. "This is– this is my trauma, and I'm dealing with it—" Poorly, obviously. "—but I'd rather have you alive than dead."

Percy shifted some of her hair so that it laid smoothly over the pillows. He wasn't looking at her. "I'd rather be alive as well."

"Just don't tell me about it, I guess," she mumbled, sagging limply into the bed. "That's all."

His hand stopped moving, resting lightly on top of her skull. "Thank you. That eases— Well. Thank you for telling me."

"I don't throw myself into danger like you do." She didn't know what she was saying anymore, but she supposed it didn't matter. It was too late in the night—or early in the morning—for cohesive thoughts. "I'm happy to stay here, safe in the walls of our city."

"Perhaps not safe for much longer," he replied, voice dark.

"Perhaps," she whispered, "but all the same, brother, I would sooner suffer a thousand years in the Nine Hells than be brought back to life."

He didn't reply.

Panic rose up within her, and she half-sat up, one hand grasping at his forearm.

"Percy, Percy, no. I won't die, I'm _not going to die_ , but don't you _dare_ bring me back if I do. _Percy_." His head dropped, face turned towards her, and she grabbed his hands with both of hers, squeezing tightly. "I will _refuse_ to come back, Percy! I can't! Do you know how many times they threatened me with undeath, with _vampirism_ — I can't! _Percy_ , Percy, _please—_ "

A deep shudder ran through him, and he tore his hands from her grasp to grab her shoulders. "Cassandra, _stop_." She didn't, and she knew she was babbling, but she suddenly couldn't shake the old terror of being unable to rest, unable to stay blissfully, obliviously dead. Percy's voice rose, but it reeked with as much terror as hers. "Cassandra, _please_ , stop. I won't, alright! I won't. _Cassandra_. I won't, I promise."

She fell utterly silent, shaking with sobs that refused to break from her throat. Percy's arms wrapped around her, and she buried her head in his chest.

Nearly soft enough to be inaudible, voice wracked with pain, Percy breathed, "I promise." She nodded mutely, and he pressed a quick, furtive kiss to the top of her head. "I promise."

She didn't reply, just let herself hold and be held. He would leave in the morning, she was sure, off to risk his life and save the world—

And she would spend sleepless nights torn apart by worry and self-hatred and fear.

But for now, in his voice, in his arms, she could hear his heartbeat in all his terrible glory and know that he was _alive_.

Cassandra closed her eyes—and breathed.

She was alive. She was alive and she was victorious.

He was alive, too.

They were alive together, and—she shoved that small dark part of her heart away, the tiny shred that wished that he was dead and she was dead and that the world burned—things would be better.

_They would be better._

**Author's Note:**

> im @azaisya on tumblr; come yell at me about the de rolo siblings


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